Khalil seemed desperate outside a house in the middle of the night. It was passed midnight. He is holding a dead-end cigarette with two of his shaking fingers and smoking fast with an ominous appearance.
"Ostad" He wailed. He's been calling his Mahajan (owner) for ten minutes now. There was no reply. It's where Mr. Amzad Malek lives, whose rickshaw Khalil takes for rent.
Every night at 10, Khalil comes here to return the rickshaw. Today, he's 2 hours late. Few dogs started barking far away from here. It's one of the many roads that vehicles avoid after sundown.
Before Khalil was about to yell for the 9th time, Mahajan came out. He was a mid-aged man with a dark complexion and a noticeable paunch. Khalil dropped his cigarette swiftly after inhaling the last whiff and started shaking more than he was shaking moments ago.
"Is it the time to return my rickshaw?" The man growled.
Khalil couldn't say anything but "Ostad", lowering his tone.
"I'm done with you." The man started to shout, "Never come back. I know people like you. You do extra duty to collect some extra money for ganja."
"Ostad, I'm giving you a little more money for this," Khalil said somehow.
"Look, it's not about money," the man said, "I've some rules. If you're out there for long and get yourself into trouble, it'll cause me problems. I've other things to look at. I can't bear more trouble for anything. Take your money and never come back."
Khalil couldn't say anything. He parked the rickshaw beside the house, locked that up, and then calmly left the place walking. His hut was 5 minutes away from there. But it took him a lot more time to return home.
*
Earlier today, Khalil's son was playing marbles in the sun with his friends. His name is Kabir. He's now eight years old with a weak appearance. Heated dust has covered his feet and turned them pale.
As he was playing, one of his friends asked, "What will you do at midday when Ramadan comes? Playing marble is forbidden in Ramadan. Our old men won't let us play."
It was a densely populated slum with a number of huts. Shacks were everywhere with dust and the smell of dung in the air. There was a field beside. People say it was a lake called 'Tarabubur Pukur.' Hundreds of years back, a drought came to our land and absorbed this reservoir for nothing. Kids now play marbles and fly kites here now and then.
"I'll be fasting and learning the Quran after Zahar waqt," Kabir said with the slightest sign of pride and satisfaction.
"Tarabi is more fun," said one of these boys, laughing.
"You kicked me out of jamaat last year. This year I will take revenge." Another boy said with giggles.
"How many days you guys would fast?" Kabir asked his friends, stopped playing marbles.
"All," they replied.
"Me too" Kabir uttered.
"You can't; you die if there's no chicken for lunch. I see your father buy chicken at least twice a week." One of the guys from the group said it, laughing.
Kabir said nothing because this was true. In fact, today, he insisted his father buy chicken for tomorrow. Buying chicken two times a week is a luxury for them.
A few seconds later, Kabir said with a shy grin, "Don't worry. I don't need chicken in Ramadan. I can fast."
He felt guilty that he loves chicken for lunch. Just for a second, he slightly doubts whether he can fast. But he made up his mind he'll keep fasting no matter what.
"When will Ramadan start?" The little of them asked.
"Soon, very soon" The boy who began to talk about Ramadan said. Then he added, "I've got a plan to play marble during Ramadan."
All of them paused for a second. "What is that?" They said at once.
They stopped playing, gathered in a circle, and peered at the boy who offered a plan. The boy was the eldest of them all. That's why everyone treats him as if he's the leader. He was Kabir's closest friend too. Once the boy caught the middle of the attention, he let his plan out.
"Do any of you guys know how to play Nakki Jua (A gambling game with marbles)?"
"I know. I know." One of the boys whispered.
"In Ramadan, when it'll be the time of Tarabi, we'll leave the mosque and go to the river bank and play Nakki Jua. Nobody can notice us" said the boy.
There were four of them. Everyone seemed excited. Kabir was excited too, as he couldn't anticipate how much joy that would be. Anyway, the pleasure of the unknown is the greatest joy of all.
*
Khalil returned home at 12. Street dogs were barking every now and then. Khalil's shack was at the end of the slum. He entered his hut silently, thinking of his son asleep.
"Where have you been?" His wife Zubaida asked. She was waiting for her husband.
"Work," he said, and then asked, "What did you cook?"
"Korolla bhaji, dal. But you have to eat Panta. Things started to rot due to the heat, plus you came late." Zubaida said as if she was complaining. Her tone was a bit higher, which caused their son to awake.
"Abba, did you buy chicken today?"
"Na, baba" Khalil tried to say something more, but he couldn't. He didn't have any excuse.
"Why?" Kabir asked, upset.
"Tomorrow, we will fast, okay?" Khalil said after gulping a morsel of rotten Panta, and then added, "It is Ramadan time. How could we eat chicken at lunch? Don't worry; I'll manage chicken at dinner. Is it okay, Baba?"
"Okay," Kabir said with the prettiest smile on his face.
Zubaida just poured water into a glass with no smile
*
The next day, Kabir didn't go to play marbles as it's completely prohibited on Ramadan days. People here can't tolerate kids with marbles and kites at this time of the year. None of his friends came to ask Kabir to play either. When Kabir asked his mom why she didn't wake him for Sheri, she said it was not Ramadan. Mom did the same thing last year, as well. She never wanted Kabir to keep fast.
Kabir was angrier the whole day as he didn't even eat lunch. He said I'll keep fasting without Sheri. Allah will accept it. Since Kabir is so stubborn, Zubaida didn't insist much on feeding him meals. However, Kabir was waiting for Tarabi with lots of excitement about the game. Who knows how much fun that'll be?
Once it was the Maghrib, Zubaida fed her son whatever he could arrange. She kept fast too. She cooked whatever she could for iftar and fed her son with more care.
There was a little mosque where Kabir went to pray in Maghrib. But he noticed none of his friends in Maghrib waqt. He returns home thinking that his friends have a bigger plan for Tarabi.
Once it was time for Esha, he left home before the Azan. He took all the marbles he had and went to his friend's hut to take him to Tarabi. But when he reached there, he got to know that 'Ramadan was still a day away.'
The writer is a student, BBA (Management) Government Titumir College, Dhaka
